


Don't Look Back.

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco can't think about anyone other than HIM, Draco's fled from the war, Draco's hiding in the Muggle world, M/M, TM's drabbles, Will he even know when the war ends?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: From the Death Eaters vs Aurors competition at http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/





	

**Title:** Don't Look Back.  
**Word count:** 100 x 4  
**Characters/pairings:** Draco/multiple offscreen Muggle men with black hair and green eyes.  
**Challenge:** Betrayal

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Initially he'd hated everything Muggle. Not that he understood. But children are selfish. They believe themselves the center and their parents gods.

His childhood was unusually sheltered.

As the war careened to a close he was living as a Muggle, sans Orpheus who ate no owl treats and made no deliveries. Would he know when the war ended? If it ended?

He dared not date Muggles, but he fucked them. He craved contact. False emotion and fleeting touch forced back demons. It was attention women abhorred but gay men sought.

Soon his dreams held only black hair. Green eyes. Fire. 

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He was no _poofter_. Of course not. But he was lonely. And that betrayal was almost as complete. 

How many times since his flight had he been impelled -- eyes ripped forward, mind wrung open, heart unmasked to a burning sky -- to reexamine cherished falsehoods?

He hid. He was a coward. 

He fucked strangers. He was wanton and coarse.

He stood for nothing. He was mean.

He prayed alone for survival. He could rebuild -- somehow -- after.

Until then, he fucked men that looked like _him_. As infrequently as possible.

Until then he waited in his pain filled nowhere. To be saved. 

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He saw the owl filled, profligate sky. He saw the shooting stars. The fireworks. He knew what was coming.

Still not daring to return, he waited for one of his own. There would be a knock. Or a crack. Possibly (probably?) chains. He knew what was coming.

He prepared quickly. Flung Orpheus toward the Manor: clearly pampered, but no letter. Burnt all potentially incriminating papers. Bolted the last of the potions. Obscured his wand down his sleeve. Considered, rejected, one last midnight at the club. He knew what was coming.

But _him_? At his door? He'd not seen that coming.

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"What are you…?" 

His vision unraveled. His knees slipped. Seeing became broken slices of fractions and shards. 

He caught -- a stride, a stance. Broad shoulders. Red oxford.

Green eyes.

Patient. Leashed. Angry or disappointed or hopeful or…

"There will be no charges. But I…. Draco, please come with me. I know everything. I was there. I saw. I…. We're alike."

"I have never. Will never. Leave me. Immediately."

"Can I try again? Tomorrow?"

"Don't look for me."

Green eyes cauterized him. A sad hand collapsed into a gapping pocket. 

_Crack!_

Denied.

No one could betray Draco more thoroughly. Than himself.

_finis_


End file.
